Monday, November 11, 2013

Branded Book Blitz

Fifty years ago the Commander came into power and murdered all who opposed him. In his warped mind, the seven deadly sins were the downfall of society. He created the Hole where sinners are branded according to their sins and might survive a few years. At best. Now LUST wraps around my neck like blue fingers strangling me. I’ve been accused of a crime I didn’t commit and now the Hole is my new home.

Darkness. Death. Violence. Pain.

Now every day is a fight for survival. But I won’t die. I won’t let them win.

The Hole can’t keep me. The Hole can’t break me. I am more than my brand. I’m a fighter. My name is Lexi Hamilton, and this is my story.

I’m buried six feet under, and no one hears my
screams. The rope chafes as I loop it around my neck. I pull down, making sure
the knot is secure. It seems sturdy enough. My legs shake. My heart beats heavy
in my throat. Sweat pours down my back. Death and I glare at each other through
my tears. I take one last look at the crystal chandelier, the foyer outlined
with mirrors, and the flawless decorations. No photographs adorn the walls. No
happy memories here. I’m ready to go. On the count of three. I inhale,
preparing myself for the finality of it all. Dropping my hands, a glimmer
catches my eye. It’s my ring, the last precious gift my father gave me. I twist
it around to read the inscription. Picturing his face forces me to reconsider
my choice. He’d be heartbroken if he could see me now. A door slams in the
hallway, almost causing me to lose my balance. My thoughts already muddled, I
stand waiting with the rope hanging around my neck. Voices I don’t recognize creep
through the walls. Curiosity overshadows my current thoughts. It’s late at
night, and this is a secure building in High Society. No one disturbs the peace
here—ever. I tug on the noose and pull it back over my head. Peering through
the eyehole in our doorway, I see a large group of armed guards banging on my
neighbors’ door. A heated conversation ensues, and my neighbors point toward my
family’s home. It hits me. I’ve been accused and they’re here to arrest me. My
father would want me to run, and in that split second, I decide to listen to
his voice within me. Flinging myself forward in fear, I scramble up the marble
staircase and into my brother’s old bedroom. The door is partially covered, but
it exists. Pushing his dresser aside, my fingers claw at the opening. Breathing
hard, I lodge myself against it. Nothing. I step back and kick it with all my
strength. The wood splinters open, and my foot gets caught. I wrench it
backward, scraping my calf, but adrenaline pushes me forward. The voices at the
front door shout my name. On hands and knees, I squeeze through the jagged
opening. My brother left through this passage, and now it’s my escape too.
Cobwebs entangle my face, hands, and hair. At the end, I feel for the knob,
twisting it clockwise. It swings open, creaking from disuse. I

sprint into the hallway and smash through the large
fire escape doors at the end. A burst of cool air strikes me in the face as I
jump down the ladder. Reaching the fifth floor, I knock on a friend’s window.
The lights flicker on, and I see the curtains move, but no one answers. I bang
on the window harder. “Let me in! Please!” I say, but the lights darken. They
know I’ve been accused and refuse to help me. Fear and adrenaline rush through
my veins as I keep running, knocking on more windows along the way. No one has
mercy. They all know what happens to sinners. Another flight of stairs passes
in a blur when I hear the guards’ heavy footfalls from above. I can’t hide, but
I don’t want to go without trying. Help me, Daddy. I need your strength now. My
previous desolation evolves into a will to survive. I have to keep running, but
I tremble and gasp for air. I steel my nerves and force my body to keep moving.
In a matter of minutes, my legs cramp and my chest burns. I plunge to the
ground, scraping my knee and elbow. A moan escapes from my chest. Gotta keep
going. “Stop!” Their voices bounce off the buildings. “Lexi Hamilton, surrender
yourself,” they command. They’re gaining on me. I resist the urge to glance
back, running into what I assume is an alley. I’m far from our high-rise in
High Society as I plunge into a poorer section of the city where the streets
all look the same and the darkness prevents me from recognizing anything. I’m
lost. My first instinct is to leap into a dumpster, but I retain enough sense
to stay still. I crouch and peek around it, watching them dash by. The
abhorrent smell leaves me vomiting until nothing remains in my stomach.
Desperation overtakes me, as I know my retching was anything but silent. My
last few seconds tick away before they find me. Everyone knows about their
special means of tracking sinners.

I push
myself to my feet and look left, right, and left again. Their batons click
against their black leather belts, and their boots stomp the cement on both
sides of me. I shrink into myself. Their heavy steps mock my fear, growing
closer and closer until I know I’m trapped. Never did I imagine they’d come for
me. Never did I imagine all those nights I heard them dragging someone else
away that I’d join them.

“You’re a sinner,” they say. “Time to leave.”

I
stand defiant. I refuse to bend or break before them, even as I shiver with
fear. “There’s no reason to make this difficult. The more you cooperate, the
smoother this will be for everyone,” a guard says. I cringe into the blackness
along the wall. I’m innocent, but they won’t believe me or care.

The next instant, my face slams into the pavement as
one guard plants a knee in my back and another handcuffs me. A warm liquid
trails into my mouth. Blood. Their fingers grip my arms like steel traps as
they peel me off the cement. The tops of my shoes scrape along the ground as
I’m dragged behind them until they discard me into the back of a black vehicle.
The doors slam in unison with one guard stationed on each side of me, my shoulders
digging into their arms. Swallowing hard, I stare ahead to avoid their eyes. My
dignity is all I have left. The handcuffs dig into my wrists, so I clasp them
together hard behind me and press my back into the seat, unwilling to admit how
much it hurts. Did they need so many guards to capture me? I’m not carrying any
weapons, nor do I own any. I don’t even know self-defense. High Society frowns
on activities like that. The driver jerks the vehicle around and I try to keep
my bearings, but it’s dark and the scenery changes too fast. Hours pass, and
the air grows warmer, more humid the farther we drive. The landscape mutates
from city to rolling hills. They don’t bother blindfolding me because they
escort all the sinners to the same place—the Hole. Twenty- foot cement walls
encase the chaos within. There’s no way out and no way in unless they transport
you. They say the Hole is a prison with no rules. We learned about it last year
in twelfth grade. To the outside, I’m filth now. I’ll never be allowed to return
to the life I knew. No one ever does. “All sinners go through a
transformation,” one of the guards says to me. His smirk infuriates me. “I’m
sure you’ve heard all kinds of stories.” I don’t respond. I don’t want to think
about the things I’ve been told. “You won’t last too long, though. Young girls
like you get eaten alive.” He pulls a strand of my hair up to his face. Get
your hands off me, you pig. I want to lash out, but resist. The punishment for
disobeying authority is severe, and I’m not positioned to defy him. They’re the
Guards of the Commander. They’re chosen from a young age and trained in combat.
They keep the order of society by using violent methods of intimidation. No one
befriends a guard. Relationships with them are forbidden inside the Hole. Few
have seen the commander. His identity stays under lock and key. His own
paranoia and desire to stay pure drove him to live this way. He controls our
depraved society and believes sinners make the human race unforgivable. His
power is a crushing fist, rendering all beneath him helpless. So much so, even
family members turn on each other when an accusation surfaces. Just an
accusation. No trial, no evidence, nothing but an accusation. I lose myself in
thoughts of my father.

“Never show fear, Lexi,” my father said to me before
he was taken. “They’ll use it against you.” His compassionate eyes filled with
warning as he commanded me to be strong. That was many years ago, but I
remember it clearly. My father. My rock. The one person in my life who provided
unconditional love. “Get out,” the guard says while pulling me to my feet. The
vehicle stops, and I’m jerked back to reality. The doors slide open and the two
guards lift me up and out into the night. A windowless cement building looms in
front of us, looking barren in the darkness. The coolness of the air sends a
shiver up my spine. This is really happening. I’ve been labeled a sinner. My
lip starts to quiver, but I bite it before anyone sees. They shove me in line,
and I realize I’m not alone. Women and men stand with faces frozen white with
fear. A guard grabs my finger, pricks it, and dabs my blood on a tiny
microchip. I follow the man in front of me into the next room where we’re lined
up facing the wall. Glancing right, I see one of the men crying. “Spread your
legs,” one of the guards says.

They
remove my outer layers and their hands roam up and down my body. What do they
think I can possibly be hiding? I press my head into the wall, trying to block
out what they’re doing to me. “MOVE!” a guard commands. So I shuffle across the
room, trying to cover up.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five
of us sit in the holding room. One by one, they pull people into the next room,
forcing the rest of us to wonder what torture we’ll endure. An agonizing amount
of time passes. I lean my head back and try to imagine a place far away. The
door opens. “Lexi Hamilton.” A guard escorts me out of the room, and I don’t
have time to look back. As soon as the door closes, they pick me up and place
me on a table. It’s cold and my skin sticks to it slightly, like wet fingers on
an ice cube. Then they exit in procession, and I lie on the table with a doctor
standing over me. His hands are busy as he speaks.

“Don’t
move. This will only take a few minutes. It’s time for you to be branded.” A
wet cloth that smells like rubbing alcohol is used to clean my skin. Then he
places a metal collar around my neck. Click. Click. Click. The collar locks
into place, and I struggle to breathe. The doctor loosens it some as I focus on
the painted black words above me.

The Seven Deadly Sins:

Lust ⎯ Blue

Gluttony ⎯ Orange

Greed ⎯ Yellow

Sloth ⎯ Black

Wrath ⎯ Red

Envy ⎯ Green

Pride ⎯ Purple

“Memorize it. Might keep you alive longer if you
know who to stay away from.” He opens my mouth, placing a bit inside. “Bite
this.” Within seconds, the collar heats from hot to scorching. The smell of
flesh sizzling makes my head spin. I bite down so hard a tooth cracks.
“GRRRRRRRRR,” escapes from deep within my chest. Just when I’m about to pass
out, the temperature drops, and the doctor loosens the collar. He removes it
and sits me up. Excruciating pain rips through me, and I’m on the verge of a
mental and physical breakdown. Focus. Don’t pass out. Stainless steel counters
and boring white walls press in on me. A guard laughs at me from an observation
room above and yells, “Blue. It’s a great color for a pretty young thing like
yourself.” His eyes dance with suggestion. The others meander around like it’s
business as usual. I finally find my voice and turn to the doctor.

“Are
you going to give me clothes?” A burning pain spreads like fire up from my neck
to my jaw, making me wince. He points to a set of folded grey scrubs on a
chair. I cover myself as much as I can and scurry sideways. Grabbing my clothes
and pulling the shirt over my head, I try to avoid the raw meat around my
throat. I quickly knot the cord of my pants around my waist and slide my feet
into the hospital-issue slippers as the doctor observes. He hands me a bag
labeled with my name. “Nothing is allowed through the door but what we’ve given
you,” he says. I hide my right hand behind me, hoping no one notices. A guard
scans my body and opens his hand. “Give it to me,” he says. “Don’t make me rip
off your finger.” He crouches down and I turn to stone. I don’t know what to
do, so I beg. “My father gave this to me. Please, let me keep it.” I smash my
eyes shut and think of the moment my father handed the golden ring to me. “It
was my mother’s ring,” he’d said. “She’s the strongest woman I ever knew.” With
tears in his eyes, he reached for my hand and said, “Lexi, you’re exactly like
her.

She’d want you to wear this. No matter how this
world changes, you can survive.” I turned the gold band over in my palm and
read the engraving.

You

can

overcome

anything…

short

of

death.

“You’re going to take the one thing that matters the
most to me?” I say, glaring into the guard’s emotionless eyes. “Isn’t it enough
taking my life, dignity, and respect?” A hard blow falls upon my back. As I
fall, my hands shoot out to stop me from smashing into the wall in front of me.
The guard bends down and grabs my chin with his meaty fist. “Look at me,” he
commands.

I look
up and he smiles with arrogance. “What the hell?” He staggers a step backward.
“What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with your eyes?” “Nothing,” I respond,
confused. “What color are they?” “Turquoise.” I glower at him. “Interesting,”
he says, regaining his composure. “Now those’ll get you in trouble.” Reality
slaps me across the face. I have my father’s eyes. They can't take them from
me. I twist the ring off my finger and drop it in his hand. “Take the damn
ring,” I say. I walk to the door. He swipes a card and the massive door slides
open to the outside. “You have to wear your hair back at all times, so everyone
knows what you are.” He hands me a tie, so I pull my frizzy hair away from my
face and secure it into a ponytail. My neck burns and itches as my hand traces
the scabs that have already begun to form. Squinting ahead in the darkness, I
almost run into a guard standing on the sidewalk. “Watch where you’re going,”
he says, shoving me backward. His stiff figure stands tall and I cringe at the
sharpness of his voice.

“Cole,
this is your new assignment, Lexi Hamilton. See to it she feels welcome in her
new home.” The guard departs with a salute. “Let’s move,” Cole says.

I take
two steps and collapse, my knees giving out. The unforgiving pavement reopens
the scrapes from earlier and I struggle to stand. A powerful arm snatches me
up, and I see his face for the first time.

Abi and Missy met in the summer of 1999 at college orientation and have been best friends ever since. After college, they added jobs, husbands and kids to their lives, but they still found time for their friendship. Instead of hanging out on weekends, they went to dinner once a month and reviewed books. What started out as an enjoyable hobby has now become an incredible adventure.

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Addicted Readers receives ARC's (Advanced Reader Copies) from authors and publishers in exchange for an honest review. No compensation of any kind is exchanged. And every opinion express is my own and is not influenced in any way.